


Soon, My Friend (I'll Be Yours Sunday)

by MeghanAnna



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeghanAnna/pseuds/MeghanAnna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke likes to tease Bellamy when he's hungover. Bellamy likes to laugh at Clarke when she falls on her ass. No one's laughing when they end up at the hospital together, getting looked at by her mother, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soon, My Friend (I'll Be Yours Sunday)

**Author's Note:**

> BFF prompt: You were dancing around in the kitchen and you fell and I was laughing at you because you're silly and clumsy but oh shit you're actually hurt

He showed up at her doorstep, drunk and near disorderly, so she let him sleep it off on her couch. He was still there the next morning with his shirt off—it was tossed over her television—and his shoes on. Seeing him there, so vulnerable and dead to the world, made her want to run her hand over his head, flattening the curls that were there—maybe scratch at his scalp a little and drop a kiss on his forehead—but she just left him there. It was best for everyone if she just left him there and did her own thing. 

So, Clarke rolled her eyes—at herself  _ and _ him—as she walked into her kitchen, putting her earphones in. She picked an upbeat playlist, one she liked to run to, and went about filling up her water bottle and eating a granola bar. She didn’t hear Bellamy wake up or walk to the entryway of the kitchen, but she did see him there, all of a sudden.

She was mid-dance, swaying her hips and shaking her head back and forth to a Taylor Swift song when she turned around and saw Bellamy watching her, eyes hooded in pain or exhaustion—maybe both—but smiling at her. 

She quickly plucked the earphones out and fell back against the fridge, clutching her chest. “When did you wake up?” she asked and Bellamy smiled wider before cringing and squeezing his eyes shut. That made Clarke smile. 

“Just now,” he said, voice husky and rough from sleep and a hangover. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting ready for a run,” Clarke told him and he nodded. Slowly he opened one eye, and then the other, and looked her over. “Do you need some water? Or Advil?”

“I took what you left for me on the coffee table,” he said and she nodded, taking a sip of her water. “Thank you. And… sorry. For last night. For just showing up like that.”

“I don’t care, Bellamy.” And she didn’t care. She would do it for any one of their friends—she  _ had  _ for a number of them already. And they would do it for her. Bellamy would do it in a second. He’d probably carry her to his bed himself and sleep on the couch. 

He considered her a second before nodding and looking down at the floor. She unplugged her earphones from her phone and pressed play so the music surrounded them both and Bellamy looked up again.

Clarke knew he loved the song but would never admit it. But she also knew the way he sang along to it under his breath when they rode in cars together and the way he bobbed his head when they sat in booths in dark bars with their friends. She knew he  _ wanted  _ to dance to it just as badly as she did. 

He leveled her with a stare and she challenged him back, dancing toward him. Bellamy remained stoic, arms crossed over his chest, and she danced around him until she heard a bubble of laughter escape him. 

“Ha,” she exclaimed, dancing in front of him with her arms over her head. She jumped from foot to foot, laughing, and said. “I knew you wanted it.”

“I just want you to stop before I pass out,” he said, laughing, and she shook her head, turning on the tips of her toes. He laughed again and Clarke danced to the other end of the kitchen and back again. “Clarke, my head.”

He was still laughing, but she knew he was hungover, so she enjoyed herself a second longer before heading back for the counter where she left her phone. One more hop, one more hip sway, one more—

Before she knew what happened, she was on her ass on the floor and Bellamy was doubled over, clutching his stomach with one hand and his head with the other while he laughed uncontrollably. She almost started to join him, because— _ really— _ it was pretty funny, but when she tried to stand up, she fell back down in pain. 

Her ankle throbbed at the pressure and she yelped. That was enough to catch Bellamy’s attention and set him standing up straight. 

“Are you okay?” he asked over the sounds of the music as it began to fade into a new song.

“Ow,” Clarke whined and he knelt down next to her. “No.”

“What do you need?” Bellamy asked, reaching behind him to grab the phone off the counter and shut the music off once and for all. “What can I do?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, trying to stand up again. She fell again but Bellamy caught her and stood them up. He kept his arms around her waist and she leaned all of her weight against his chest—his very warm, bare chest. 

“We’re going to the hospital,” he said and she shook her head over and over again. “Clarke, you can’t walk. You can’t even stand!”

“Well, I guess that’s what I get for making fun of you,” she whined, hopping on one foot to turn in his arms. She held herself up with her hands on his shoulders and rested her forehead against his chest for just a second. “I really think I’ll be okay.”

“I really think you just don’t want to go to the hospital,” Bellamy countered and her face fell. “I’ll call your mom and tell her we’re coming.”

“She doesn’t work on Sundays,” Clarke said and then sighed. “I’ll take a cab.”

“Clarke, I showed up at your apartment at three in the morning and you let me sleep on your couch without a single complaint. I can drive you to the hospital,” he promised and she sighed again, but nodded, glancing down at his chest.

“Can you put your damn shirt on first?” she asked and he laughed.

“Yeah, I guess I can do that.”

He helped her hop into the living room and sat her down on the arm of the couch while he put on his shirt. Then he pulled off her socks gently and slid on a pair of flip flops for her. 

The whole time, she watched him in silent awe. She didn’t ask for his help or tell him she needed to put on shoes, he just went and did it himself—so gentle and full of care.

“Okay?” he asked and she nodded. He smiled at her encouragingly and she gave him one back, much less encouraging—more of a cringe in pain, really—and he huffed out a laugh before picking her up.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelped and he laughed again, shifting her in his arms until she finally settled against his chest and put her hand at the back of his neck. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it? Because you could barely hop to the living room. How do you expect to get to the car?” 

“Literally any other way,” she muttered and Bellamy huffed. “My keys are on the hook by the door.”

“I know where you keep your keys,” he reminded her, walking toward them. Clarke used her free hand to grab them off the hook before settling even further against him. 

Bellamy trying to get Clarke into the car turned out to be comical and, even though her ankle was killing her, she couldn’t stop laughing. When he got into the car next to her, he started it, but just rested his head against the steering wheel, breathing in and out over and over.

“Are you going to throw up?” Clarke asked carefully and Bellamy looked over at her, not even lifting his head. 

“I just need a second,” he promised.

“Bellamy, go back inside and sleep it off. I can take a cab.”

“Shut up, Clarke,” he said with no heat behind it, “I’m fine.” 

He took one more deep breath and sat up before driving off. Clarke kept her eyes on him during the short drive. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was afraid he would actually throw up in her car or if she just wanted to take the chance to look him over. She didn’t even realize when they were at the hospital until he turned the car off.

“I’m going to grab a wheelchair,” Bellamy said and Clarke nodded.

“I’ll just wait here,” she said, smiling at her own joke. 

“So funny,” Bellamy said, shaking his head. Once he opened his door, he looked back at her and squeezed her knee. “I would carry you again, but I might actually throw up if I do.”

“Please don’t carry me or throw up,” she told him with a laugh and he promised with a smile and left her in the car.

\--

Once inside, Clarke sat next to Bellamy in the waiting room. There were about five other people waiting to be seen, so Clarke got comfortable with her foot up on the wheelchair in front of her and her head resting on Bellamy’s shoulder. He rested his head against hers while he scrolled through his phone and she could feel every breath he took. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly and he glanced down at her.

“For what?” he asked, as if he really had no idea. 

“Being here.”

“You were there for me last night,” he reminded her with a shrug that nearly dislodged her head from his shoulder, but she snuggled closer to his side and instead he put his arm around her and placed her head on his chest.

Cuddling wasn’t new for them, but it wasn’t something they did often. It usually occurred when they were both a little drunk, or when the whole group was squished together watching a movie. Once or twice it’d happened when one of them was upset and needed comforting, like when Clarke and Lexa broke up or when Bellamy and Octavia fought so bad that they didn’t speak for a month. 

“You want to tell me why you got drunk and took an Uber to my house last night?” Clarke finally asked, because she didn’t want to think about Bellamy’s heart beating in her ear and because she’d been thinking about it nonstop since he showed up. 

Bellamy shifted a little and ran his hand through his hair before resting his forehead on top of Clarke’s head. 

“I got drunk because Murphy finally proposed to Emori and Miller and I took him out to celebrate,” he explained and Clarke sat up, eyes wide in shock.

“Murphy  _ proposed _ ?” she asked—a little too loudly because at least four people turned to look at her—and Bellamy laughed. “Seriously?”

“I know,” he said and she shook her head slowly before resting against him again. 

“And why did you end up on my doorstep?” she asked quietly. Bellamy shrugged and tightened his arm around her shoulders. 

“It was the first place that came to mind when my driver asked where I wanted to go,” he admitted and she smiled. 

“Clarke?” 

Clarke looked up so suddenly that Bellamy didn’t have a chance to move his head and she hit him right in the nose. He grunted in pain and her mother—standing in front of them—gasped in surprise and Clarke turned to look at him. 

“Are you okay?” she asked at the exact same time her mother did. 

“It’s a good thing we’re at the hospital,” he said, looking at Clarke and she smiled, holding in a laugh. 

“What happened to you, Clarke?” her mother asked and Bellamy helped her stand so he could put her in the wheelchair again.

“Dance mishap,” she told her and Bellamy laughed behind her, but then he immediately gasped in pain. 

“All right,” her mother said, laughing a little, too. “You two are coming with me.”

Bellamy followed Clarke’s mother, pushing Clarke in the wheelchair and Clarke smiled at him over her shoulder. He smiled back, but it was strained and she could see a bruise forming on his nose so she looked away.

“I didn’t think you worked on Sundays,” Clarke said to Abby and she looked over her shoulder to look at her.

“I’m covering a shift,” she explained and Clarke nodded as they continued down the endless halls of the hospital. “Want to tell me about this  _ dance mishap _ ?”

“I was taunting Bellamy with his favorite song that he refuses to admit is his favorite song,” Clarke started and Bellamy sighed behind her. “And I wasn’t wearing any shoes, so my socks and the tile worked together to betray me.”

“Karma,” Bellamy noted and her mom smiled at them. “Is my nose broken?” he asked, nervous.

“I don’t think so,” she laughed and Clarke let out a sigh of relief. “But it’s going to bruise.”

“Great.”

Abby led them into an empty room and shut the door behind Bellamy. While Clarke was helped onto the bed by her mother, she watched Bellamy deflate against the wall across the room and hang his head. Bellamy with his hangover and newly bruised nose, Clarke with her messed up ankle—neither of them were having a very good morning.

\--

“I’m never dancing again,” Clarke announced as she and Bellamy entered her house a few hours later. She was on crutches with a brace on her ankle. His nose was black and blue, spreading underneath one eye. 

“Good,” he huffed, kicking her door shut behind them. “You can’t dance anyway.”

“Liar,” she said, shifting around carefully so she could sit on her couch and rest her crutches on the floor in front of her. Bellamy kept walking into the kitchen and she heard the refrigerator open and close before he came back out with a bag of frozen vegetables on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said sitting next to her. Then his cold hands were on her shoulders, shifting her so he could put a leg on the couch and pull her against his chest. “You’re supposed to elevate your leg,” he reminded her and she obeyed, resting it next to his with her head on his shoulder. 

“We’re a mess,” she commented, picking up the vegetables from his thigh and holding it against his nose again and he took it from her.

“Always,” he said and she laughed. 

Bellamy’s hand was resting on his thigh right next to hers and she reached for it. He didn’t even hesitate to link their fingers together and squeeze.

“Why do you think my house was the first place that came to mind when your Uber driver asked where you wanted to go?”

“Because you were here,” he said quietly, carefully. “And I like to be where you are.”

“Okay.” Clarke turned her head to smile against Bellamy’s chest and he kissed the top of her head. 

They sat in silence, hands clasped together, Clarke’s back against Bellamy’s chest, just  _ being _ . Just breathing. 

Clarke didn’t know what Bellamy’s admission would lead to, but she knew she’d probably have to thank Murphy if anything came of it. And that thought made her head spin, because she had never thanked John Murphy for anything. Ever. But if his engagement led to more moments like the one she was in with Bellamy that Clarke had hoped for over the past year or so, she’d have to thank him for the rest of their lives.

She also had to thank Taylor Swift because if it wasn’t for that song, she wouldn’t have been dancing. She wouldn’t have had to go to the hospital with Bellamy and they wouldn’t be where they were. But… where were they?

“What happens next?” Clarke asked nervously and Bellamy put down his bag of vegetables and used his cold fingers to tilt Clarke’s head up. 

“This,” he said, swallowing hard as he searched her face. She gasped just before his lips landed on hers. “And it’ll keep happening if you promise never to make me dance to that song.”

Clarke laughed and pushed up to kiss him again. “I can’t promise that,” she said, still laughing. 

“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. He turned serious and pressed his lips against her forehead.

“I’ll keep dancing, though,” she promised.

Bellamy smiled and Clarke rested against him again. “Wait until that ankle is healed.”

“You’ll still be here?”

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://bellamyfrecklefaceblake.tumblr.com)!


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